


A Little Something to Behold

by Zweelee



Category: Original Work
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Angst, Drabble Collection, Drama, Gen, Macabre, Multi, Poetry, and figments of imagination, just tiny fragments of my mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zweelee/pseuds/Zweelee
Summary: Just a collection of various more-or-less poems related to nothing.
Kudos: 3





	1. sustenance; dazzling; outlier; undone; welcome; miscompassion; not collapsed; damned Ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> Some of them will probably deal with pretty heavy subject matters; they are too tiny to add specific content warnings to each one of them, so just proceed cautiously. That, and I will also be adding '+' to the titles of ones that could be especially triggering.

_sustenance_

Words, taken to heart.

Fingers, interlocked.

The vestiges of warmth

to last another winter.

_dazzling_

I adore your smile,

the one that looks like

you would eagerly use it

to punch the world.

_outlier_

You are so intense

that it sometimes seems

as if you, with your sheer incandescence,

would sizzle through the canvas

of reality that surrounds us—

not just scintillating or splendent

but fiercely ablaze.

_+undone_

Could you, please, draw in

a mouthful of seawater

and lick my bones

until they are finally

devoid of flesh—

just a polished surface,

smooth, turning velvety

with tiny crystals of salt,

yielded by your saliva.

_+welcome_

I don't want you to value my life,

I want you to use it.

I trust you to make it

into something beautiful

much more than I trust myself.

_+miscompassion_

For the damage you've caused,

I should hate you,

but I am unable

to stop empathizing

to the point that your pain

means more than their deaths,

and I'm wallowing in my incapacity.

***

I am too tired

to live in spaces

between what is

and what should be.

_damned Ouroboros_

Your mind, willing to protect you,

works in distinct and wicked patterns.

Not even out of malice–

a set of (auto)immune responses.


	2. emendation; deobjectification; propinquity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A study in artfulness of individuals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are actually fanworks rather than originals; I'm currently reading 游医 | Youyi | Itinerant Doctor by priest and adore it immensely.

HJC @ KT

 _emendation_  
I appreciate you.  
The scarcity of my praise  
and rarity of my regard  
for you are not spared.  
My admiration of you  
is intense and incessant,  
as is my assessment.  
Are you even aware   
of how valuable you are?  
I assume that you aren't,  
which is circumstantially evidenced  
by you, throwing yourself with abandon  
at the walls and the work and the world  
and entirely wrong people.  
A precious piece of art  
should only be handled  
by dexterous and esteemed experts  
and treasured for what it is—  
something unparalleled and peerless  
and at times even  
far too exquisite  
for its own security.  
Isn't it how  
it always goes?  
...  
...  
It turned out that I  
had been incorrect,  
which gradually became  
pretty apparent.  
I was not only inaccurate  
in my appraisal—  
I was wide of the mark,  
absolutely and utterly off-target.  
You are neither a treasure  
nor a breathtaking masterpiece.  
...  
You are inherently  
and immeasurably  
more substantial—  
a breathing organic person,  
even if a bit artificial.  
(still wonderful and amazing)

  
_deobjectification_  
All the harbours in existence  
cannot accommodate a vessel,  
which has lost its mooring line.  
I thought of the possibility  
of you, welcoming me,  
and you, becoming  
my safety net.  
In such, I failed to recognise  
the fibers of your cords  
for what they truly were—  
a network of nerves,  
alive and trembling.

_propinquity_  
When my body is  
juxtaposed with yours,  
pressed just as close  
as two descrete items  
or separate entities  
could ever be,  
there is so much to process—  
many things of utmost importance,  
only some of them shared.  
If I tried to isolate them,  
to articulate their character  
and to designate them one by one,  
the priority would be held  
by a peculiar recognition  
of how the ribs, imposed  
as a basis for our assemblage  
and innermost composition,  
even if not adjacent,  
once have been taken  
from a singular ribcage.


End file.
